Wrists (complete)

Part 3

I pull into the strip mall parking lot. It's getting late, but the stores are still open. I park and wait for a woman who is just coming out of the door. I watch her as she walks quickly, not running, but legs snapping back and forth in such neat scissor-like movements that you know she's cold and wants to speed up the trip to her car, but doesn't want to run in her pretty heels.

There's no way she's shopping at this store for herself. It's that store. You know the one. The store that only sells "women's" sizes. The clothes are supposed to be stylish, professional, just shy of sexy. And yes, they aren't baggy pajamas and sweatpants, they're nice enough clothes, but no matter how you package it, it's all just clothing tents for people who need lots of space.

I watch her lean legs, bound up in smart dark tights, click back and forth until she opens the door to the car and folds herself into the seat in one fluid motion. That entire process, from store exit to seat belt took less than ten seconds and appeared effortless. I huff in frustration. It would have taken me more than three times as long, and many more painful steps to the process.

Stick monster draining my bodily fluids - eh, what can you do?

Perfectly innocent stranger walking to her car - my day ruined.

I wait until she has pulled out onto the street before I get out. No way I'm letting someone like that watch me struggle out of my car. I sigh as I haul myself up and out. At least I don't have to worry about being in a hurry because I'm cold.

But as I get out of my car, I immediately reach for the tear in my shirt, holding it closed. The temperature must have dropped. I quicken my pace to the entrance.

The bright lights, and a sales associate assault me as I come through the door.

"Hi! Can I help you?" She asks in her perky, cool-girl voice.

Crap. I wish I'd gotten here a little earlier, when there were more people. At least I'd have had a minute to get my bearings before dealing with her. Don't salespeople understand they are to be seen and not heard? I don't need you pressuring me while I wander around clothing racks feeling nothing but disgust and shame about how horrible I know all of these things will look on me. Thin fabrics showing puffy flesh around bra straps, waistbands designed to pinch and bluge the fattest part of your middle, and your perfectly made up mouth lying to me about how great it will look if I'd just try it on.

What I'd really like to try is my fist in her face, but I don't say that. I take a breath and am about to give her my clipped, inarguable, "I'm fine," but I hesitate, and instead I say, "Do you have anything warmer than this?" and I pause, and lower my voice to a whisper even though there's no one in earshot, "In my size?"

You would think in the fat girl shop I one wouldn't have to be embarrassed about asking for your size, but when your sizes are so out of the human norm that even in this store they aren't kept on the sales floor...

She smiles, lipstick not even cracking as her mouth stretches to reveal lovely white teeth. God bless it, has everyone got to be so much more attractive than me today?

"I think I have just the thing. Come with me." She leads me to a rack of sweaters in the middle of the store. She flicks through the colors and comes up with my standard black and a brighter blue. "We have two left in your size."

I pause, ready to tell her about her mistake. She's pulled the wrong size. Sure it's the largest one on the rack, but smaller than the sizes they keep in the back.

"I know it's not your usual choice, but this blue would look so pretty with your coloring!"

Oh, God, she's even waited on me before. I never make eye contact with them so I didn't recognize her. I snatch the black one out of her hand and mumble a thanks. I head to the dressing area fuming. If I stretch this out so bad they have to throw it away and she has to go crawling around in storage to get me a bigger one anyway, it'll be her own damn fault.